


To Be Close To You

by MariekoWest



Series: DB✦Retrouvaille [3]
Category: Dragon Ball Z, GohanxPiccolo
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, F/M, Fem!Piccolo, Genderbent!/Racebent!Piccolo, High School, Ideologically Sensitive, Interspecies Romance, Interspecies Sex, M/M, Multi, NSFW, Other, Possible OOCness, R18, Shounen-ai, Uke Piccolo, Yaoi, 腐向け, 飯Ｐ
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-17
Updated: 2017-09-17
Packaged: 2018-10-29 13:37:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10855083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MariekoWest/pseuds/MariekoWest
Summary: Tell me. What is the craziest thing you've ever done for love? (Updated with a rough sketch of (Genderbent!/Fem!Piccolo) Cello Maoh & Gohan Son.)





	1. Have You Ever Been Crazy In Love?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [soap_san](https://archiveofourown.org/users/soap_san/gifts).



> **For Gohan Day** [05-08]  & **Piccolo’s Hatchday** [05-09]
> 
> * * *
> 
> **Music:** Miracle Drug (U2), Original Of The Species (U2), Ultra Violet (U2), No Line on the Horizon (U2), Sometimes You Can't Make It On Your Own (U2), The Sweetest Thing (U2)

**C e l l o   M a o h &   G o h a n  S o n**  
(Concept Sketch: MariekoWest)  
(Will be replaced with the final polished piece... someday.)

* * *

 

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**

 

0 **  
Have You Ever Been Crazy In Love?  
**

  
**\--------x--------**

 

Tell me.

What is the craziest thing you've ever done for love?

Was it getting a tattoo of her name? Proposing to her on one knee in front of a crowd of onlookers? Buying that engagement ring that costs more than your soul? Or is it one of those not-so-little things like finding yourself awake all night thinking of ways to make her smile? And when you do fall asleep, it's dreaming of her that makes you smile all day?

_Maudlin? Magical?_

_Or just a load of bullocks?_

They say that love makes people do crazy stupid things. Things people would never normally do in their “right” minds.

Honestly, I didn’t believe any of that; I was more on the sceptical side. But that was before I’ve actually lived and done those things. Big, not-so-small, stupid, and crazy. All of which I still can’t believe I was actually capable of doing… Things that I would gladly do all over again if I had to live my life twice.

What is the craziest thing  _I’ve_  ever done for love, you ask?

Well… It’s kind of hard to explain. I think it would be impossible not to understate if I tried to fit the answer in only a few sentences or even a dozen-- it’s… complicated like that. But if you really want to know…

How about if I just  _showed_  you?

 

My story started out uncomplicated enough. I was just your average teenager like every other half-alien teenager struggling to survive the high and low crucibles of cliché high school life. And like every other cliché love story, it all began when two people were brought together by what romantics like to call “fate”. But that's where all the cliché ends…

 

My name is Gohan Son Jr.

And this is the story of how I gave up _everything_ just to be with a girl.

Her name-

…was Cello Maoh.

 

 **End of Prologue.**  
Continued in Chapter 1:  **"Falling"…**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Dragon Ball Z/GT/Super/Xenoverse etc. belong to their respective owners. Concept and design of Cello Maoh and this derivative fanart belong to ~~the mistress of unfinished artworks and fanfiction procrastinatress~~ MariekoWest ©2017)


	2. Falling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One of the surest symptoms of love is definitely the crazy.

**\--------x--------**

  
**1  
Falling  
**

  
**\--------x--------**

 

There she was again. _The girl with the piercing blue eyes…_

I was halfway through my second week at the university when my encounters with her began. I was minding my own business that day, running late and trying to get the universe to cooperate and get me to class on time when I ran into her. More precisely--her unfortunate circumstances.

The first few times I saw her, she was either breaking some poor guy’s heart with flat-out rejection… Or flat out breaking some guy’s nose with her impressively exacting fist.

The first time I decided to actually get involved was that one time that I caught the odds all wrong. Four against one was foul play no matter how strong the outnumbered may be. Especially if we’re talking about four guys who were twice her size and didn’t look anything like they had the best of intentions.

Ordinarily, I didn’t make a habit of getting involved. I hated violence and fighting. But there was one thing I hated more than that. _Guys who played dirty._ _(Plus, this wasn’t what I normally classified as ‘_ _ordinary’_ _.)_

I reacted before I could think. Even after I reacted, I don’t think I managed to get back on track on the “thinking”. I don’t even remember most of what I did to get the bullies to lay off, all I remember was my fist throbbing with pain and my body smarting in too many other places at the same time. Although I knew some martial arts from my father, I wasn’t exactly the type who was all gung-ho about actually putting it into practice. I learned to fight only to be able to stay out of the fights, as ironic as that sounds. When I did choose to fight it was usually because I felt that I didn't have a choice.

And usually, when that happened, it was almost always pure raw instinct that took over.

All I remembered was coming to my senses arrested point blank, on the receiving end of those otherworldly piercing sapphire orbs. Then I was unceremoniously shoved out of the way all too soon. In lieu of the customary ‘thank you’ and goo-goo eyes –which was what I generally received from females (and occasionally males) for such chivalry- she thanked me with something like a cross between an insult and a quite unorthodox endearment. The gist of which was how I should  _‘mind my own fucking business_ ’ and how she didn’t need help from  _‘stinking male scum’_.

I probably should have taken offense but I ended up doing the opposite and apologizing. It didn’t make sense to me either why I did that, but I didn’t care. During the trudge back to my hall, all I could think of was the horrifying possibility that my above-average olfactory sense might have failed me when I needed it the most. In simple terms, I was worried that she might have reacted with such detestation towards me because of unwanted body odour. That’s right, my mind was so befuddled by our first meeting that it was interpreting everything in the weirdest ways possible.

The rational part left of me was positive that she didn’t mean that I stank in the literal sense. My acute sense of smell ensured that if I strayed even a little from the strict personal hygiene habits that my mother took pains to instil in me, I would be the first one to suffer. As natural as some deemed it was, pungent Earthling male smell was a musk I really didn’t fancy wearing; I liked smelling clean (and not like I didn’t shower daily and just kept wearing the same underwear for a week, thank you very much). However, that knowledge didn’t stop me from scrubbing and soaping three times my usual intensity and frequency in the tub that night until my body actually squeaked from too much cleanliness, just to be absolutely sure in case her nose was even more sensitive than mine. And that was only the beginning of the crazy…

I found myself in the clouds the next few days, haunted by the soft register of her voice more than her scathing words; floored by how I’ve never really heard a girl actually “growl” before and finding it oddly cute. Even if I’ve seen her many times before our actual meeting, it was the first time I was able to come face to face with her; the first time I got caught in all the passion and hatred blazing in her eyes. Which was what made me decide that I was wrong. “Piercing” wasn’t the word for it… It was more like “stabbing” or “skewering”. She threw phrases like  _‘staring daggers’_  and  _‘if looks could kill’_  in a whole new light. If one could shoot a quiver of arrows or a death beam with a glare, I should think that I was already dead. Her eyes were excruciatingly unforgettable like that.

I woke up one quintessentially nondescript perfect weather day several weeks after with the realization that I was caught by  _something_  inescapable (I wasn’t quite clear then on what it was myself). But I got out of bed, washed up and showered, and by the time I was all dressed and stepping out of my dormitory room heading for my first class, I had already made up my mind.

I was going stop playing the fate game and take matters into my own hands.

_I was going to get to know her better._

 

**End of Chapter 1.** **  
** Continued in Chapter 2:  **“More Falling”** …


	3. More Falling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gohan does what most teenagers in love do... He seeks advice from his good friend hoping for encouragement. He gets a "reality-check bitch slap" instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning:** Expletives.  
>  Preliminary design sketch for Cello Maoh [here.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10871973/chapters/24172749)

_“Dude, are you out of your fucking mind?”_

If being popular was a superpower, Trunks Briefs would be a superhero. He’s the kind of player with whom everyone wanted to play ball with as soon he stepped into the playing field. If you want to get a better picture of what I’m like, just try imagining the very opposite of that. We’re the school’s typical jock versus geek archetypes, except that he’s not only athletic but also brainy whereas I’m strong as much as I’m bookish; those balancing traits are just not the first thing others see when they try to match labels to the package. When it comes to matters like the ‘ _wheres’, ‘whens’, ‘whos’ and ‘whats’_  of love and its acceptable boundaries, I’ve always pegged Trunks as the expert. He has the flair and the experience where I’m just awkward.

Although his rhetorical outburst wasn’t exactly the concerned or even interested reaction I was expecting when I asked him about her, I decided that a safe answer would be more judicious.

“Err…  _Maybe?”_

 

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**2  
More Falling  
**

  
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Her name was Cello Maoh (rhymes with  _“hello now”_  except with a “c” before the “h” and an “m” in place of the “n”). She’s a foreign student with alien descent as I was. Apparently, if being popular for being misunderstood was a superpower, then she would be the supervillain of this story (as far as the majority of the university campus was concerned).

I shrugged my shoulders and got a genuinely sympathetic shake of the head in response that pretty much eloquently expressed:  _‘You are so screwed!’._

It turns out that Cello Maoh was a proud _misandrist_ ; a notorious man-hater. No one knew why, though. But what bothered me more was how everyone generally disliked her because of this without even bothering to actually understand why.

Girls hated her because she was always a hot topic of discussion among the boys. When they didn’t hate her for that reason, they’d still hate her anyway because she came on too strong and was unbecoming for a girl (at least, as far as their opinion of how a girl should conduct herself). Her relationship with boys was even messier. Those who weren’t betting and competing on who could get her to submit to a man were magnetized by her standoffish aura and tried to win her over the old-fashioned way, which didn’t end any better.

According to Trunks, she has rejected  _every_   _single_   _one_   _of them_  to date _,_  and not everyone has had the balls to take it like a man. That pretty much explained the ridiculous amount of aggression she always got from the boys. Nothing hurts the brittlest of male egos better than the existence of a strong and independent woman who genuinely didn't need whatever it was that men believed they had to offer.

I could imagine how the fact that Cello Maoh was all that plus a bonafide misandronist must have been one heck of a low blow to them, which is why the losers who had nothing to brag about but their machismo felt the need to assert their virility over her.

I was masochistic and suicidal (apart from the obvious "downright stupid"). That was Trunks' initial assessment of the situation. Of all the “safer” and more available options who were already doing everything from batting their extended eyelashes to flashing their enhanced assets at me just for a speck of my attention, the first one I show legitimate interest in is the mental case Amazonian chick who just didn't go for dick.

Point taken.

I had to admit he had a good argument.

He was convinced that being the (-and I quote-)  _‘golden-hearted naïve virgin’_  that I was, I was merely confusing pity for attraction. This part of his verdict surprised me. I knew I was interested in her, yeah. But I’ve been so caught up in just wanting to find out more about her that I didn’t think to even analyze that I might be attracted to her romantically. I couldn’t really say I had enough experience of what that felt like to deny it. It certainly gave me something to think about that night.

All I was sure of then was that Cello Maoh was a mystery I had to solve; a puzzle I wanted to piece together. And the more pieces of that puzzle I found, the more I  _needed_ to know what secrets she kept; to see the whole picture of her. Even weirder was something in me was already positive that I was going to like what I stood to see. Trunks’ warnings and disapproval didn’t even faze me in my quest. It became a compulsion fuelled by something I couldn't explain more than curiosity at that time.  _I just couldn’t get her out my system._  If attraction was anything like that, then…

And it just kept getting worse from there. I didn’t bother letting Trunks know that I didn’t heed his advice to stay away from Cello Maoh and go chase someone else instead; someone who wouldn’t be more than happy to kick me in the nuts the soonest opportunity that presented itself. Maybe I thought he was overreacting and the whole matter would blow over once I’ve figured Cello Maoh out. Or maybe, a part of me knew that he was only too right about everything:  _That I was most probably going crazy._

I found myself doing the exact opposite of Trunks' advice.

I pursued the elusive Cello Maoh.  _Sort of._

I’ve never actively pursued any girl. But maybe that’s only because I’ve never felt the urge to, even if I had been mildly interested in one or two before. Pestering or stalking girls were things I would never have considered proper by any standards. Neither was meddling in other people’s business or being where I wasn’t wanted. But before I even realized it, I was already doing all that.

It became a habit for me to get up ten minutes earlier just to wait for her to emerge from her residence hall and follow her to the college building. I did all of this discreetly, of course, keeping a safe distance. She already had enough bad stalkers, and if I had to be a stalker, I was determined to be a good one. If I had to resort to unconventional means just to make sure she was safe from her unconventionally terrible circumstances, then so be it. I knew she would never admit it, but at the rate of the growing enmity around her,  _she needed me_. I liked to think of myself as her secret protector. At least- that was how I justified my creepy behaviour.

It went on for a month or two until it happened: I levelled up from "getting worse" and entered a whole new phase of crazy I couldn't even define anymore. I couldn't remember when anything else mattered more than whatever it was I was doing then.

_Was this still classified as "attraction"?_  If not, then what's worse than attraction? What usually came after that?

I didn't bother asking Trunks for the answer to that, either.

Somehow, I think I already knew.

 

**End of Chapter 2** **  
** Continued in Chapter 3:  **“Bust Them Balls”…**


	4. Bust Them Balls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They say that love is supposed to feel good. Why do they say that? (And who the heck are 'they'?!)

 

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**3  
Bust Them Balls  
**

  
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There were days when her trip to class from her dormitory and back would be uneventful. But I saw how those days slowly became too few and far between.

Every other day, it was like wading through a warzone for her, fending off at least one to two harassers daily. And those were on the good days. After witnessing the horrors she had to go through every day, I began to empathize with her misandry. Most guys who pestered her were such rotten representations of the male class that I myself was starting to feel bummed that I belonged to the same gender. On worst days, she had to fight her way through clusters of them and it was all I could do to refrain from jumping out and just punching the living daylights out of all of them myself.

One thing I immediately learned about her was that Cello Maoh was indeed, an extremely capable young woman, and she had every right to be angry that I had underestimated her the first time I jumped into her fray. She was strong enough to handle them herself even when outnumbered. However, sad to say, that didn’t mean she was impervious. Fighting was almost always a double-edged sword. She would be lucky to get out of one unscathed, but more often than not, there would be injuries, minor ones, at the very least. But sometimes, even the smallest injuries had a profound effect on her mobility, which often led to even more injuries.

I couldn’t bear watching her being roughed up by those jerks, and yet, I couldn’t keep my eyes off of her every time. No matter how handicapped she was, her fighting form stayed fluid and graceful (if not more brutal). Just imagining what kind of hard work she must have put in to accomplish that level of discipline blew my mind. What’s more, she employed a fighting style that was more commonly used by boys; one that utilized maximum strength and damage for each efficiently delivered blow, instantly immobilizing without having to expend unnecessary energy. It was quick and precise. But this style had a serious downside if your strength or concentration was on low. You would have to put more effort into your movements to compensate, and this caused tremendous strain to her injured body. Which brings me to the second and third times I gave in to the impulse to “assist” her.

I ended up with far more memorable souvenirs from her than just a few biting words and extra shower time. The second time I was treated to excruciating pain from a dislocated jaw and several nearly dislodged teeth which I owed to her killer right-hand uppercut. The third time, I woke up in the infirmary, feeling very sore and tender in that area in-between my legs. The last thing I remember before blacking out was the sensation of mind-numbing pain as a result of my being too distracted to keep her knee from crashing into my groin with incredible speed and force. The indescribable pain that caused me to view the vast entirety of the solar system and every single constellation in those moments before the merciful darkness swallowed me, certainly got me wishing I was born with the opposite set of merchandise instead.

So there I was, lost in introspection as I lay on that bed in the infirmary. It had been over an hour already but my lower regions still felt numb. I should have been fuming mad, right? But, I wasn’t. Thinking back to the two events that were now the top two most painful experiences of my whole life so far (which was saying a lot, since I do have some decent martial arts background and was no stranger to pain), I realized that these were something I brought upon myself.

The second time I interfered was out of brashness, just like the first time. True, her aggressors had snuck up on her and pinned her from the back making it look like a hopeless situation to any outsider. But I should have known better. Anyone with ample self-defence training would have easily escaped such a hold (as Cello Maoh would have likely done if I hadn’t decided to play knight in shining armour too soon). 

The third time I played hero—which is where I was granted the unforgettable pleasure of having the jewels smashed in—was also something I deserved. To her credit, she didn’t go for the kill right away. In fact, she dished out her signature mean uppercut first (the one that got me in the jaw the second time) only this time, I was able to catch her fist and… I think, I  _might’ve_  gotten  _a little_  too overjoyed about it, and I  _might’ve_  allowed a self-satisfied smirk to cross my face, which she most likely—and understandably—took as an ill-timed provocation.

I made a mental note to be extra careful that I didn't inadvertently provoke her again in the future. The whole idea was to get on her good side after all, not the opposite.

_But was that even possible?_

I was being swayed by the very convincing argument put forth by the scrambled state of my upper regions amplified by the equally scrambled state of my lower regions, that as long as I had the set:  _penis, balls_  (crushed as they may be), _Adam’s apple and the whole male_ package, Cello Maoh would not want to be within a hundred kilometres of me. As long as I was classified alongside the creatures considered the closest relatives of the Sasquatch in her eyes (even if I wasn’t even  _that_  hairy), we could never become anything more than whatever this was- which somehow seemed even less than enemies and much colder than strangers.

Of course, Trunks finally found out what I’ve been up to and wasted no time gloating over my predicament. He took great pleasure in giving me his version of ‘I told you so’ by saying that if I used my actual brains to think instead of my dick like he advised, I wouldn’t be where I was now, literally half the man I used to be.  _Very humorous._  Normally I would have let that one slide. _Normally._ But that day, you could say that I was feeling somewhat ‘testy’, and couldn’t resist defending my brains (and my dick).

“Did you ever think that maybe it’s just that kind of thinking that made her hate men in the first place?” I said. “She thinks all men are either after her body or out to torment her for being a strong individual. And you are so willing to affirm it, even when that is  _not_  what I am doing.”

“Fair enough.” I was looking up at the ceiling but his stern expression was within my periphery. “Tell me, what are you after then, Gohan?” I shifted my gaze to meet his.

“Nothing. I’m just…  _concerned_  about her.”

“Why?”

“What do you mean ‘why’?”

“Of all people you can be concerned with, why her?”

I scoffed. “What’s that supposed to mean? It’s fine to be concerned about everyone else except her?”

“In case you haven’t noticed, she’s clearly fine without anyone’s ‘concern’.”

“No, she isn’t,” I muttered. “She just doesn’t know it yet.”

Trunks scoffed back, looking unamused. “I’m pretty sure Cello Maoh isn’t the  _only_  girl in the galaxy who needs your concern, Mr Ambassador of Goodwill. And you and I know she isn’t the most helpless of them all either.”

 _Why was I so concerned about her?_ There was an answer that Trunks was waiting for me to own up to but I’m sure that whatever he thought it was, wasn’t what this was about. Still, I grit my teeth as I second guessed myself… 

_Was it?_

“C’mon, dude, be honest.”

“Be honest about what?”

“Do you really want  _me_  to be the one to say it?”

“I have no idea what you’re driving at.”

“You either feel sorry for her or… You’re in lust with her. Knowing you? Maybe both.”

“What? What the heck is that supposed to—”

“ _Knowing you—_ ” he interjected. “You’ll be in too deep before you even realize what’s happening because you’re an idiot like that.”

“I do  _not_  think of her that way.”

“Whether you accept it or not is out of the question. You’re a dude. A  _guy_ , a  _man_. We, ‘males’, don’t fall in love with females so that we could make daisy chains to hang around each other's necks and share idealistic theories on love and perfect platonic relationships.

“…Unless of course, you’re going to tell me that you’re actually gay and not really looking for a girlfriend, but a  _‘girl friend’_.”

I opened my mouth to retort.

But decided to save it. Because honestly? I couldn’t think of anything to say to him then that didn’t include the “f-word”.

And I just wasn't in the mood to give him the pleasure.

 

 **End of Chapter 3** **  
** Continued in Chapter 4:  **“The ‘L’ Word”…**


	5. The "L" Word

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trunks gets on Gohan's case, which is not the kind of attention he wanted nor needed at that moment. He confirmed it in the most the painful way: Cello was a venus fly trap, only she was notorious for crushing... more than the boys' spirits...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **I am currently on indefinite hiatus from publicly posting my works**. I just posted this to insert this announcement for anyone who might want to know and don’t get to read my journal updates. Only links to story updates will be posted publicly after this. Complete and regular updates will be posted on my archives: mariexfolie (fc2)  & mariekowest (dreamwidth) but it will be password-protected. (More on why I am on hiatus below.)

“You’re in denial, Gohan.”

“ _Am I?_ ” I scoffed. This time on superlative levels.

 

_Remember that part about not giving Trunks Briefs the satisfaction of getting on my nerves? Well, that resolve was fading fast._

 

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**4  
The "L" Word  
**

  
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“Your virgin mind is so naïve- so inexperienced in these matters that you're idealizing this fixation you have for her. A lovely and intelligent woman playing hard to get is one of the surest ways to get a guy hooked. Though I totally get why you’re feeling guilty about admitting it, I mean—there’s religion, among a menagerie of other factors—which has dumbed us down throughout the ages and made us believe that wanting to have sex is immoral -when it really isn’t, by the way- so you can stop trying to convince yourself you’re not like every other healthy male Neanderthal on the planet wanting a good lay. It's perfectly alright. I ain't gonna judge.”

“What are talking about?" I spat, aghast. "What is that even supposed to mean? Speak for yourself, Trunks!”

“Look, I’m sorry to break this to you, man. But the only pure feelings of affection a man and a woman can share is that between mother and son; and even _that_  isn’t always untainted! By design, we 'males' are attracted to females for  _only one reason_. You can call it whatever other flowery term you want, but it is what it is. You can’t fight something hardwired into our system for millennia. Not even the gods are that self-righteous, I mean, who do you think you are? The God of Celibacy or something? Unless, again, you’re gay. See, ‘cause if you’re not—and I sure hope you’re not—ultimately, no matter which road you decide to take, whether it’s the 'holy' and conservative path or the run-down and dirty one, you’re still going to end up in the same garden of Eden. There's that forbidden apple you’ll take a bite from that will make you—as a man—want to fulfil life’s greatest and only purpose with a woman, _not_  a happily ever after, mind you, but proliferation of the species.”

I knew I should have just let him have this round. His words didn’t have to mean anything to me; didn’t have to become my truth. I was in no mood nor shape to argue and I knew nothing would become of it. But my usual level-headedness was feeling more and more out of reach the more he kept pushing that envelope.

“Don’t be a hypocrite, Gohan! It ain’t cool! You gotta man up! Don’t tell me you’ve never fantasized about kissing her even once? That you haven’t noticed how tight and full she is in all the right places? About how good her naked and sweaty body would feel against yours as she squirmed beneath you while you forced her to squeeze the essence out of you?”

“ _Don’t,_ ” I ground my teeth. 

At that point, I was fantasizing, alright. Fantasizing that my fist was impinged on Trunks’ face where it deserved to be at that moment.

“ _Don’t you dare._ Talk about her that way again—”  

“Or what?” Trunks lips curled into a smirk. “…You’re gonna defend her honour like you’ve been doing these past weeks whether she wants you to or not?”

I weighed the pros and cons of actualizing my fantasy, deciding in a heartbeat that the pros  _definitely_  won hands down. My arm was already winding back to take the shot even before my conscious mind could complete the command and I could practically taste it; the sweet instant gratification that releasing some of the past weeks' pent-up frustration promised; even appreciative at Trunks for giving me the perfect excuse to.

Unfortunately, I didn’t get to cash in on that payback.

When the person you want to sucker punch suddenly breaks into a fit of irrepressible laughter, you’ll find that, it can be very effective in killing the build-up.

“Either you’re pretending to be angry to hide the fact that you’re turned on or you’re really angry because you’re seriously in love with this chick.”

 _What?_  I blinked.  _Did he intentionally egg me on just to get a reaction?_

“Congratulations, buddy!” He sat his stupid smug ass by the bed, giving me a forceful smack in the back before draping his arm around my neck. “This is the first time I’ve seen you actually serious about being with a girl! And—I’d  _really_  like to say that I support you all the way too, except that—well, I don’t think it’s going to help you at all. As your friend, it’s my duty to tell you the ugly truth: There’s  _no way in hell_  you’ll win over Cello Maoh. You’re setting yourself up by even just entertaining the thought! Tough luck. Best give up while you’re still in one piece… Sort of.”

 

_Trunks Briefs._

_Fuck you._

 

“Now,  _if it were any other girl—_ ”

“Gee,” I flicked his arm off my shoulder. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“Hey,” he says, raising his hands in mock-surrender. “Don’t shoot the messenger! I’m just saying, man. No matter how hot Cello Maoh is, she’s always going to be more trouble than she’s worth. Believe me, I would know. Gotta hand it to her though. She's a little kooky, yeah, but she’s sensible enough to know what we guys are really all about and ballsy enough to broadcast that she wants none of it. Most girls fool themselves that we’re fodder for their sappy fairy tales and happy endings! Girls and their unrealistic expectations, pfft! It's the stuff of fiction! Girls’re all that same generic sociopathic brand of crazy, you know? Cello Maoh is just a higher-end psychotic kind of crazy.”

“Thanks,” I muttered under my breath, shaking my head as he made circular motions with his finger over his temple to further illustrate the exaggerated 'loony' expression he was making. “For the record, I  _don’t_ envy  _your_  reality.” He only laughed some more as I furiously swatted away his hand which had patronizingly left a pat or two on my head before he got up and started to leave. My sigh of relief is further put on hold as he stopped by the doorjamb.

“Just remember, Gohan. There're things that’re meant to be and things that just aren’t, no matter what you want to believe. Life would be less complicated if we learned to live within those limits, is all I’m saying.” He finally shuffles out. But, again, suddenly sticks his head back in, all sly smiles. “I’m guessing you’re not so numb down there anymore, amirite? At least now we can rule out the possibility that you’re gay. Oh, and you’re welcome.”

I was alone in the infirmary soon after, with nothing but the ache in my loins to commiserate with. But I happily welcomed the solitude like it was my new best friend. Trunks’ uncalled for exposition left me with simmering feelings of unease. Mostly irritation. The rest, confusion. I’d be lying if I denied that Cello Maoh was beautiful—dazzling, even. I couldn’t help but admire that aspect about her a lot. (Frankly, I don’t think anyone could, not even her enemies).

But to _debase my intentions_ that way? Trunks was  _waaaay_  out of line.

I didn’t understand where all the bitterness and angst were coming from. Sure, Trunks didn’t exactly grow up in a warm and fuzzy loving environment, but he didn’t have it anywhere near “bad” at any point in his life either. Plus with how smashingly he was always doing with the female crowd? You’d never think he was carrying all that emotional baggage.

 _Oh, fuck that._ I had bigger problems to sort out than Trunks’ misplaced 'emo' persona. The point was that he was supposed to be my friend and yet he practically condemned me to the firing line along with all the other shmucks who didn’t respect women especially Cello Maoh.  _I wasn’t anything like them_  and I didn’t need anyone to validate that, not even Mr Trunks “Jaded Casanova” Briefs.  

Setting aside how crassly Trunks drove his point, I did (after some effort) manage to extract the merit in his words. From an objective point of view it did look bad; with the way I was following a girl around like some shady pervert.

If I was going to prove—not to anyone else but Cello Maoh herself—that I wasn’t like the rest of her blighters, I knew I had to be able to at least answer the question: 

_What did I really want?_

That primal part in me that Trunks spoke of (not only in the male species but in all of us, that part that kept us human)  _did_  sympathize with the men who bothered her. I didn't condone their actions but it didn't mean that I didn't understand them (at least, to some degree). Cello Maoh was not only beautiful, she was  _desirable_ , and her stubborn indignation only amplified that. Maybe Trunks was challenging me in his own fucked up way or maybe he just wanted to be an ass.

Either way, I was going to prove him wrong. While he wasn’t wrong about dark desires being inherent in all humans, it didn’t necessarily mean that we were stuck with whatever we were born with. Humans are capable of both good and bad things. To me, it’s which part we choose to act on that matters. (Why do I feel like I've heard that in a superhero movie somewhere before?) I knew my motives were not  _that_. _Cello Maoh was not some conquest or trophy I was competing for._

I know it sounds crazy but—I felt like she was sending out SOS signals on a very specific frequency.  _My frequency_. And it's what told me things. Things that you couldn’t explain with words but just knew in your heart. Things like:  _there was something I needed to do for her_ , something only I was going to be able to do. I can’t explain why or how, but  _I just understood_. I understood who Cello Maoh was even if technically, I still knew close to nothing about her then.

I know what you’re thinking.

I admit, it feels exactly like I am, but  _I know_  I’m not going crazy. (At least, not in the conventional sense of the word.)

There was a beautiful world trapped inside Cello Maoh. But for some reason, she’s turned herself into a prison and locked herself inside. The blazing defiance in her eyes were the iron bars that she hoped would deter anyone from coming close to those windows into her soul and peering in. She had fortified all these defences with chains of solitude and isolation. And so far, she's succeeded in fooling everybody into believing that she was a demented hopeless nutcase. Everyone _but me._

Somehow, I had managed to glimpse the real her and it roused something in me that I didn’t even know existed. A part of me that was completely dependent on her, feeding off those little insights into her soul and kept hungering for more. The more I saw, the more I needed to see _all._

 _The complete picture of who Cello Maoh truly was_.

I needed to be the one-- I believed I could  _and wanted to_  be the one who liberated her. I was so sure _that I was the only one who could_ ; as fanciful and presumptuous as that may sound. It was the only explanation I could offer then; the answer to Trunks’ question.

_I just wanted—needed—to make Cello Maoh smile._

Not just any smile. A real smile. The kind of smile that was so much more than just an upturn of lips. The kind of smile that would light up her eyes in happiness and excitement instead of hatred and fear. The kind of smile that would get her to unfurl her broken wings and allow it to heal.  _From what exactly?_  At that point, I had no idea.

I know,  _I know._  I could almost hear Trunks’ scornful sniggering at my lame attempts to justify my insane actions. I knew it would only give him more fuel to pour onto the fire he had conveniently set under my ass.  _Oh yeah. I almost forgot._  I didn't give a shit about his or anyone else's opinions anymore.

It was going to be just between me and Cello Maoh from then on.

 

And that was still just the beginning. I'm only just getting to the prequel that led to all the real madness.

_Was I falling in love? Or losing my mind?_

_Was there a difference?_

It didn't really matter but I didn't know it yet then, how perpetually rhetorical those boggling questions were destined to be. 

Sometimes you didn’t need to have all the answers. Sometimes even having all the answers won’t make a speck of difference. Whatever it was, all I knew for sure was that I couldn’t fight it anyway. Whatever it was, I slowly came to realize that I didn’t have a choice but to surrender to it—

And free-fall.

 

 **End of Chapter 4.** **  
** Continued in Chapter 5:  **“Rhetorical Answers”…**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The reason is, sadly, still the same old boring reason no one cares about, LOL. I continue to be one of the victims of a jejune plagiarist who can’t help herself from copying the ideas and writing styles of other writers (don’t be surprised if the word “jejune” or “superlative” or any of the wording I used suddenly appears in her new chapters, as nuances in my writing (among other things) often suddenly _mysteriously_ make an appearance in her work _right after_ it does in mine (which sticks out of her totally different default style like bad patchwork). It has been a year since she started doing this and I am at the end of my rope (suicidally speaking) and my patience (murderously speaking). If it finally comes to it (as much as I don’t want to resort to this), I will expose this writer with a comprehensive comparison of her plagiarised work for everyone to see. I really hope it doesn’t come to that. (u_u) 
> 
> * * *
> 
> To those who wish to follow my works on my blogs and need the password, I'm just a PM away! Don't forget to introduce yourself, so I know you are not *her*. Cheers and take care, lovelies.


	6. Rhetorical Answers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gohan's pursuits continue to put a strain on everything in his life, even in areas he didn't expect. Could Trunks be hiding something from him? Meantime, a new and unexpected discovery comes to light about Cello Maoh...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Possible discrepancies in my writing since I’ve been tweaking with my style of late (trying to improve). Any kind of sincere (and polite) feedback is always greatly appreciated! Cheers! ♥︎

_Fanfare, huh?_

 

I watched Trunks’ back until he was swallowed up by the sea of students flowing to their respective classes. The end-of-lunch bell chimed intrusively in the backdrop of my mind on top of the general rowdy commotion. But I really didn’t hear anything.

There was only one thing ringing in my mind then…

Our latest conversation to do with… my “fixation” with Cello Maoh… 

 

**\--------x--------**

  
**5  
Rhetorical Answers**

  
**\--------x--------**

 

_“Heeey, Gohan! How is your—uhh… how’re Humpty and Dumpty? Still whole I hope?”_

_“Oh,” Har-har. “…it’s you.”_

_“Ha-ha! Wow. What a reaction! That’s gotta be the first time I’ve seen you this overjoyed to see me. I’m touched. Let me guess… Is it ‘cause you’ve finally realized I was right all along about what you really want with our dearest Miss Maoh?”_

_“Yeah, about that—” My locker slammed shut with a bang that made even me jump. I abruptly turned to face him hoping that would cover it up. “I’ve realized what I want alright. But you’re still wrong about it.”_

_His snort mutated into a chortle. And as a bonus, it is joined by an encore of sniggering from an entourage I didn’t even notice was there._

_“Is that what you think? Well, that’s fine. But sooner or later you’ll find out that I’m right after all. Whatever ‘noble’ thing it is… I’m telling you… it’s only fanfare to the main event, Gohan.”_

_Fanfare._

Whatever happened to the time when friends actually acted like… well—

Like friends…?!

 

The sights and sounds of that encounter with Trunks and his theatre club posse didn't disperse with the crowd as I had hoped. It sloshed around like sewage waste inside my skull as my feet took me to my own first period for the afternoon that day—and, lamentably, pretty much badgered me with its unwelcome presence the entire week.

_I wanted to make Cello Maoh smile._

There wasn’t anything wrong with that. I wouldn’t be ashamed to shout it out to the world if that weren’t completely unnecessary (not to mention stupidly melodramatic). But it sure as hell wasn't fucking "fanfare" and there was no fucking "main event". Though, if you take into account what things I’ve been doing to try and get close to her, I’ll be the first to admit that it wasn't exactly the sanest justification.

If I were to really pick it apart for the sake of argument… For a full-grown teenage boy in the height of puberty wedged into a sex-crazed environment that’s nurtured by equally sex-oriented media-- it would sound too suspiciously ingenuous and out-of-place… Therefore overly romanticised, ergo—unrealistic and flighty. Like I said: not exactly sane.

Be that as it may, it was the best reason I had. It  _was_  the truth.

All the same, I took huge comfort in the tiny consolation that I didn’t let my “best friend” in on that particular bit of truth. His sadistic proclivity for poking fun at my social ineptitude ever since we were grade-schoolers would have made it like handing him the perfect ammunition that he would only be too eager to use on me. Our most recent exchange confirmed as much…

_“…It’s only fanfare to the main event, Gohan._

_“I’d wish you luck but it wouldn’t do you any good. You’d have a better chance at success in trying to achieve world peace.”_

He didn’t even need to know it, he was going to shoot me down, no matter the why—boring truth or prettified lie. Which brings me to a curious conclusion…

It wasn’t the fact that Trunks was being so antagonistic that I found so hard to believe. He may be the kind of friend whose personal mission in life (next to providing the pixie dust to make his fans’ fantasies fly) was to poke fun at others—the bulk of which was directed at his “childhood friend”…

But he was also the same friend who had never vetoed the idea of his childhood friend getting it on with the ladies- regardless of who. In fact, because that childhood friend of his wasn’t as much of a go-getter as he was, he doggedly endorsed it. It was the only thing you could count on Trunks Briefs to be serious about.

So now that this “childhood friend” of his—after all these years—is  _finally_  interested in a girl (even if she was, in his own words ‘a little kooky’), I honestly expected him to be the first one enthusiastically backing me up.

Only he wasn’t.

Instead, he was enthusiastically buzzkilling me.

Had I broken some unwritten guy code by being exclusively interested in Cello Maoh?

Was she too audacious for a first-time venture and Trunks was –in his own special tardish way- really just concerned about me?

Another explanation which had crossed my mind—although rather offbeat—was that he was actually afraid…

While it was normal for Trunks to drop out of my radar for weeks—sometimes even months when he was in one of his dating phases, I didn’t have my own “social” recreational activities to get caught up with so I’d be left solo during those times, but I didn’t mind it at all. Solitude never bothered me; I was cool with it. Until Cello Maoh happened, I was always the wallflower; that perpetual introvert who was never as hung up as everyone else about playing the dating game. Sure, I had a couple of friends outside our two-man circle and some admirers of my own; but no matter how long he went off to do his own thing, he would always find me where he had left me and nothing much would have changed. At least, nothing that had significant bearing on our friendship. As it was, Cello Maoh was already shaking my world and throwing everything I’ve ever known in a whole new perspective; how much more if I actually succeeded in making her a part of my life? If that happened, there were certainly no guarantees that the comfortable arrangement Trunks Briefs and I have always had was going to remain unchanged.

_Could it be that Trunks felt that Cello was a threat to our friendship…?_

Trunks never struck me as the jealous, possessive type of friend, but I actually really didn’t know that for sure.

Whatever his reasons were, I knew there was no way I’d get a straight answer from him without some sort of coercion involved. Trunks Briefs was too proud of his spotless picture-perfect social image to own up to something that would tarnish that. Lucky for him, I was still willing to give him the benefit of the doubt  _for now_ , and settle for whatever proxy reason in my mind to justify why he was being a “who-needs-enemies” kind of friend. I wouldn’t be surprised if those secret in-campus bets pitting guys against Cello Maoh already had my name on it. It wasn’t the first time students made sport and amusement of other people’s lives. However, it  _was_  the first time an underdog like me stepped up to the plate. I could practically feel the hushed tension closing in on me at school each day, building up to what they most likely anticipated to be one splendid—and by all means, “entertaining”—failure on my part. And with how much of an ass Trunks had been acting lately? It wouldn’t be a stretch if I found out that he was part of the majority who stood to profit from my impending doom at the hands of the ‘nefarious villain’ of this tale, the “insane” Cello Maoh.

Well…

Everyone counting on that can  _kiss my bruised virgin keister!_  because this ‘underdog’ is hell-bent on denying them that satisfaction.

(Which, of course, as always—was much easier said…)

As days piled into weeks and eventually into months, I began to entertain the thought that maybe Trunks was right. Perhaps it would be wise to reassess my goals and accept that some were more achievable than others. As things were, my seemingly simple goal to make a certain girl smile was sinking deeper and surer into the _“impossible” and-or-otherwise “divine intervention needed” category_.

It didn’t mean that I was giving up though. You could say that I just ran into another…  _unforeseen complication._

It was at that point after everything so far, that I realized, with much chagrin, that  _not even once—_

 _…_ Have I seen Cello Maoh smile.

While it’s true that I wasn’t with her twenty-four seven, I might as well be. I already secretly chaperoned her to and from the school building every day. I also managed to shift a few of my classes so we shared a couple of subjects which allowed me to legitimately be within her proximity. As an extra precaution, I even stationed myself on the rooftop during break time, just so I could check on her in her usual lonesome and inconspicuous spot in the school grounds and make sure she ate her daily packed lunch of two sandwiches and an apple in relative peace. Then, as much as after-class club activities would permit, I catch up with her in the library, where she read alone in the more secluded areas for what remained of daylight; which I gathered was the high point of her day because this was where she appeared to be most relaxed—the closest thing to happy I’ve ever observed on her general aura, as I again, watched from an unobtrusive post. After that, I’d “walk her home”, and the next day it would be the same ninja-esque (okay fine, “stalker”-ish, if you will) routine.

Yet, all through all that… not even the slightest turn of lips, nor a hint of a smile anywhere on her pretty face…  _nothing._

If I didn’t know better, I would think she didn’t even know what it was or how to do it… But that was impossible, right?

One thing I  _did_ find out from all that, which she  _did_  know how to do well and did a lot of—

_Was shed tears._

I could have said “crying” if I wanted to be generic about it; but it wasn’t like the usual crying with the hand-in-hand sobbing, shaking, and overall expression of anguish. It really was  _just that._ She shed tears.

At first, I wasn’t so sure because she did it so casually and then she would nonchalantly rub the moisture away like something simply got in her eyes. There were times when she didn’t even seem to be aware of it that she forgot to wipe the glistening wet trails that adorned her cheeks entirely; she would just keep reading her books or doing whatever it was she was doing like it wasn’t even there.

One glum day of many, as I stood under the inclement August downpour watching from a distance that might as well have been a lifetime apart, I found myself spellbound as she paused in mid-stride and turned her face up to the heavens.

I knew there were tears there, even if the raindrops camouflaged it—washed it away, I knew there would always be more… On the outside, it seemed like she has learned to overlook it—live with it. But I also knew, somehow, that in her heart… a storm was raging, one that probably never stopped…

And suddenly, though it didn’t look that way from where I was standing -the world was still gloomy and sorrowful and I wasn’t going to be able to change that- but as a formidable clap of thunder and lightning cracked the horizon, an epiphany struck me. It felt like the gods finally smiled down upon me and had given me my first real clue on how to get closer to Cello Maoh…

_If I wanted to make Cello Maoh smile…_

_I first needed to find out what made her forget how to…_

 

And that storm in her heart-- that was the key…

It didn’t necessarily make things easier, I know.

But at least now, I knew where to start…

 

 **End of Chapter 5** **  
** Continued in Chapter 6:  **“Braving the Storm”…**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story was meant to be an exercise in patience for me (and for anyone interested in it too, I imagine, haha). I wanted to experimentally utilize a slow-build for its pace in shorter, more manageable chapters. But I’m also trying to be more systematic from now on so I plan to focus on finishing this one (of all my other ongoing AU multi-chapters) first. If all goes well, I should have another chapter or two up within the coming days. I hope you continue to look forward to it! For bearing with me, thank you so much, lovelies! ♥︎


	7. Braving the Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They say when things get worse they're eventually bound to get better. Right? Of course, it will still really depend on how long you can stay alive to outlast the "worst".

_Tell me, Cello Maoh…_

_What is it that made you forget to smile?_

 

**-x-**

 

As far as I (and anyone else) could tell, the way things were—with the cold and distant stretch of time and space that perpetually separated us, I was the closest thing that she had to what the remotest semblance of a “friend” could ever be. She always kept to herself and had no friends who could help enlighten me even a little. Which meant that there was likely no one else in school who knew more than I did; everything I knew at that point was about as much as could be known by anyone who has ever come this close to her…

All of which can be summed up into a neat little checklist in my mind: 

  1. _Hates boys. No, detests males of all gender-based races in the known galaxy._
  2. _Extremely skilled in martial arts and unbelievably strong. (Mean uppercut). (Watch the knee!!)_
  3. _Her features tell me she’s of a race I don’t recognize (could be a hybrid). Eyes are bright lapis lazuli (almost glowing), burnished copper brown hair, wavy and wild. First blush is an exotic mix of Earthling(?), Heranian(?), and quite possibly something else…(?)_
  4. _Not affiliated with any school organization/not a member of any school club or guild._
  5. _Doesn’t appear to have any other hobbies and interests besides reading books._
  6. _No friends. Exerts no effort to make any like she didn’t care. At all. (Is this even possible??)_
  7. _Always sandwiches and an apple for lunch. (Never seen her eat anything else.)_
  8. _Doesn’t talk much, even when teachers call her in class. They stopped trying._
  9. _Cries often. Well, sort of ‘cries’._
  10. _Never seen her smile. (Yet.)_



And…

…That’s everything.

 

**\--------x--------**

  
6 **  
**Braving the Storm****

  
**\--------x--------**

 

When I was a four, I got lost in the wilderness and unwittingly crawled into a cave which contained a slumbering diplodocus. The shock of the initial introductions aside, my love for nature and animals naturally had me thrilled to have a friend dinosaur. (Trunks’ family cared for one in their backyard terrarium; something he constantly bragged about and something I was consistently jealous of). But even before we could get better acquainted, a tyrannosaurus rex came along and ate my newfound friend.

Only a few years later when a baby dragon I rescued from a forest fire took to me did I get over my first tragic attempt at petship. And so, despite my mother’s disapproval, I secretly snuck out to play with my winged-friend all the time. Could you really blame me, though? To any six-year-old who loved the outdoors, flying above the world on a dragon’s back was more exciting than inverse cosine functions, logarithmic expressions, and non-negative integer exponents. Of course, my Mother was furious when she found out. So furious, that she threatened to cook and serve my friend to me for dinner if I persisted on defying her. And so, with a heavy heart, I led my dragon astray somewhere far, far away to bid another friend goodbye…

Having pets as friends may seem a little overrated to most, but to those who’s had very solitary childhoods, it can never be overrated enough. I was one of those children who grew up mostly alone. My mother never played with me, she only ever enforced my studies. Father was hardly ever around. I got used to it. I don’t think Mother ever did. It made no difference though… When you lose something—someone-- nothing can ever prepare anyone for that, no matter how much you know it’s coming and try to be ready for it.  _Everything_  in your world changes. The day my father walked out the door and never came back, my mother was never the same. Not long after that, a heart attack took Grandfather from us as well—which in turn, left Mother devastated and inconsolable for many, many years.

So there I was: eleven years old, the world crashing down upon us and I was consumed by the illusion that I could make things all better. As long as I pretended I wasn’t crumbling on the inside too. As long as I pretended not to hear her crying every night when she thought I was fast asleep. In truth, I didn’t really know what to do… I felt more broken for her than for both of us--more than I ever could for myself.

 _Anguish… Fear… Anger… Frustration… Or just a world of heartache…?_  We shatter and break for different reasons. But seeing someone we care about suffering can be the most painful of all.

And so, here I am now. Seventeen years old and under the same illusion that I could make things right. This time, for Cello Maoh… Toddler, eleven years old, or seventeen, some habits don’t die, I guess. But I think we can all safely agree that it doesn't just have to be your mother--whether it's some exotic alien chick or otherwise, seeing someone cry wasn’t a particularly enjoyable thing to bear witness to. As a member of the male group, I can safely say that this is especially true for us boys, a lot of whom personally confessed to hating seeing girls cry.

You’re probably wondering:  _did I ever get my mother to stop crying at night?_  The truth is, I don’t know, I don’t remember if I did. My mother cried, yes. But she would still smile every day like she wasn’t doing the opposite every night; even if most times it looked like keeping that smile on her face was hurting her more than the crying. That’s how I knew I wasn’t the only one trying.

Family and friends were different. Cello Maoh wasn’t any of that to me-- heck, I don’t know if we could even be called enemies—although I would have taken anything she had to offer me over whatever it was we currently had (or didn’t have) going on. Our relationship right now felt like one between goddess and mere mortal. I wasn’t just a nobody to her, I was a creature she wanted nothing to do with; which earned me no position to casually walk up to her to ask her what was wrong and offer comfort. (Not that I didn’t try).

Trunks was right. I didn’t have a stake in her life,  _I’m not supposed to care_ …

And yet…

I can’t seem to remember how to do anything else; it felt like there has always been nothing else but  _her_ … Seeing her silently suffering--was my entire world crashing down.

 

I found myself lying in bed wide awake most nights, trying to remember what life was like before her. But it always ends up with me being sure that I have never really been alive  _until_  her… Then it led to wondering how colourful the world would be if she would—if only I could just… see her smile.  _How is it that someone so beautiful could be so broken…?_

I’d wake up from not having slept at all, only always sure of two things:

One:  _whatever Cello Maoh’s reasons were, they were bound to be damn good ones._

And two? Whether I found out or not what those were is ultimately both irrelevant and inconsequential. A bloody lip now and then or torn ligaments may be my only trophies at the end of the day, but I didn’t even remember to count the gains or grievances on my end anymore.

As long as I got to do whatever I could to protect her--that’s all that mattered.  _For now._  And the now was what I decided to focus on.

The now (of that time in my story), was not a very comfortable place to be though… 

One good thing about "nows" is that no matter how bad, they were always bound to get better eventually, right?

 

Maintaining my scholarship status while trying to be an ace bodyguard under the radar was a rough life to manage. But while it didn’t get any easier, after countless weeks of the demanding routine, I was slowly getting the hang of it. I actually even got in some extra hours of training whenever I could, as I expected things to go downhill now that my reputation as Cello Maoh’s martyr and suicidal defender was gaining fame. Worst case scenario would be that they’d gang up on me to take me out of the equation. Or, that they’d report my “misdemeanours” to permanently mar my records and result in the revocation of my scholarship. But the latter option would be as detrimental to them as it would be to me so I wasn’t too worried about it. The former turned out better than I anticipated. A significant number of scumbags peeled off the flock, realizing that having their bones broken or dislocated wasn’t worth the price of proving their manhood. The downside was the periodic influx of exceedingly minatory and hostile aggressors in their place. Bullies in quality over quantity.  _Fantastic._

I took a serious beating in the first wave but lived to survive another beating in another day, and another, and another—and I just tried not to think of how much farther. My mind was already set for the long haul so more than ever I took each day one gruesome fight at a time. This new trend, however, led to an unexpected development… One singular day from a messy blur of many-- for the first time--I saw my unwilling damsel's face take on a look of genuine relief over the fact that there was someone literally dying to be her knight…

It was just another day that promised nothing out of the ordinary level of crazy; I was mindlessly checking my list of things to do on my phone as I walked my usual safe distance from her after class. And by safe distance, this meant that if trouble arose, I’d be close enough to intervene at just the right moment if needed, but not close enough to be a nuisance.

It happened just as I was turning the pavement curb of the Science Building which marked the halfway point to her hall.

_A scream._

Disorientated, I had to think twice to pinpoint where it came from and who it was.

It came from where Cello Maoh was. But I had  _never_  heard her scream before. 

 

**-x-**

 

Any kind of “male” involvement didn’t sit well with her, that much is established. And as it was, I knew that my unsolicited “help” was probably aggravating her just as much as the true opposition was, so I was even more careful not to exacerbate the situation for her. This became something of an art—to watch for that precise very last moment when things went sideways too fast and she’d be in over her head. As much as I truly enjoyed witnessing how gloriously she could kick ass, it was pure torture to just wait things out cutting it too close. If I intervened too prematurely, I wouldn’t only get my ass beaten twice but also incur more of her hatred. If I miscalculated and entered a split second too late, she would end up seriously hurt and I would never forgive myself. Needless to say, the first mistake was always usually more favourable.

But like I said, I’ve got it down to a fine art by now. I’d only step in when things got a lot hairier than usual--do what I felt exactly needed to be done, no more, no less, then afterwards, I’d disappear so fast it’s like I wasn’t even there…

 

**-x-**

 

The world burned a bright red haze; nothing but my Saiyajin blood pumping through my entire body. As always, the only thing left in my memory by the time it was over was the "before" and "after", but not much of the "what happened" in between. There would be no hesitation, no pre-evaluation; everything about fighting was clockwork to me by now.

When I came to, shock had set in; with it, the pain too was starting to register from many places all at once but leftover adrenaline still had half of me on autopilot. I had conditioned myself not to relax until I had completed what I set out to do.

Cello Maoh was on her knees on the floor, blood oozing from her mouth and ominous bruises beginning to vandalize her neck. I picked her up and carried her—I wasn’t thinking of any specific destination; my priority was to get her to safety. She trembled and clung onto my neck in lieu of the usual clawing and punching. Her sweet fragrance was swaying my convictions; the urge to hold her closer to comfort her with kisses was so strong that I had to bite the inside of my lip  _hard_  to resist it.

I gently sat her on a bench in the park closest to her hall. Then with the handkerchief from my pocket, I wiped the blood from her chin, her mouth, and was only faintly aware of clear trails of wetness running down from the corners of her eyes. Almost mechanically, I retrieved the sewing pouch I carried around for repairing my own torn clothes after the messier fights. I would rank the fight we just survived the messiest by far-- my shirt uniform was torn in too many places in a way no amount of mending could salvage—but I wasn’t concerned about fixing my own clothes at the moment.

Cello Maoh’s blouse had been ripped down the middle. I didn’t care if she thought I was being ridiculous, weird or prudish, it was dangerous enough for her walking around decently clothed, there was no way I was letting her back in the campus looking like she was inviting attention to herself. I put my coat over her shoulders and got to work.  

_Fifteen minutes._

That’s how long it took to patch up the damage on her blouse. That's how long she had her eyes on me as I attended to my task. None of us spoke the whole time; I strove not to falter as my adrenaline ebbed and she just sniffed and heaved, and wiped away the persistent wet spots on her face.

At last, after what felt like an eternity of sweet torment, I congratulated myself inwardly for pulling through, pocketed my sewing pouch and got to my feet to take my leave.

 

“Why are you doing this?”

 

Those were her first real words to me that wasn’t harsh diatribe; the first time I heard her speak without sounding angry.

A smile found its way to my lips; the kind that hurt more than crying. “I… I really don’t know the answer to that myself…” I’ve dreamt about this moment too many times I couldn’t tell if I was awake anymore. Her voice was even more beautiful than I remembered. “I just think you don’t deserve to be treated that way.”

“But…” Her blue eyes filled with emotion. “You’re…”

“…A guy?” I offered, my lips tugging higher up the corners. “Yeah, I guess I am, huh?” I closed my eyes, as a sigh slipped from my chest.

 

_Tell me, Cello Maoh…_

_What is it that made you forget to smile?_

 

“If it means anything, there are times I wish I weren’t…”  _If it meant being able to get close to you… If I could make you smile…_  “I just didn’t have a choice there, you know? Sometimes, we end up in places we don’t want to be…

"But that doesn’t mean we can’t get out, right?”

 

_I may not be able to make you smile just yet…_

_But if I could keep your reasons for shedding tears to a minimum…_

_Then maybe, for the time being…_

 

“Well, I’ll see you around…

“…Take care of yourself, Cello Maoh.”

 

_That was good enough for me._

 

 **End of Chapter 6** **  
** Continued in Chapter 7:  **“Close To Something”…**


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